


Forsaken

by smaragdbird



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Cousin Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/pseuds/smaragdbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lot sends his son Gawain and his nephew Mordred out to look for the surviours of a mudslide, which Mordred thinks is a waste of time because he has other things on his mind</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forsaken

**Author's Note:**

> for those who come from countries were cousin-relationships are taboo, be warned that this story contains incest  
> For everyone: Mordred's canonical (more or less anyway) incestual parentage is discussed

It began to rain when we reached the village that had been destroyed by the mudslide. Gawain's father, my uncle, sent us here to look for survivors but it was clear that anyone who had survived this disaster was long gone. It was an utter waste of time and the weather was miserable on top of it.

Gawain being the proper knight that he was inspected every of the remaining houses to find someone. If he just knew that the king he honoured so much was nothing but a sinful man who had lain with his own sister. He couldn't know no one did except for me and my mother and my father. My dark thoughts didn't help with our current situation either.

'Gawain!' I called him: 'Let us go home. There's nothing here.'

Instead of listening to me, my dear cousin went around the corner of another ruin.

'Mordred!' he called me: 'I found something.'

When I went around the corner, however, the first I saw wasn't a survivor but a face full of mud, flung by Gawain. He laughed.

'You've been moody for weeks now. Father told me not to bring you back until I made you smile at least once.'

I tackled him into the mud. He was older than me and stronger but he was laughing so hard - and I knew I had to look ridiculous with all that mud in my face - that it was easy to pin him to the muddy ground and straddle him. His laughter died when I pressed our groins together so that he could feel my arousal as well as I could feel his.

'I've neglected you, my dear cousin.' And I had. We hadn't lain together since I had found out the truth of my heritage: 'I hope you can forgive me.'

'I forgive you when you put that mouth to a better use than talking.' He told him.

I changed my position and kneeled between his now open legs. Gawain leaned up on his elbows to watch me unlace his trousers and swallow the head of his half--hard cock. He had always loved to watch me blowing him, loved to watch the way my lips encased his shaft.

I moved up and down and swirled my tongue around his head. I saw his hands shaking with the desire to grab my head and fuck my mouth but I wasn't going to let him do that, not today. Instead I moved away from him to unlace my own trousers. I pushed him down while straddling his thighs and made him pull his tunica over his head. I steadied myself with one hand and used the other to grip our erections together. I bit, kissed and licked up and down Gawain's bare chest while grinding against him. I bit the junction of his shoulder and his neck hard and he came, spurting all over our bodies.

I let go of him, wanting to finish myself off but Gawain stopped me half way and closed his big hand around my cock. He watched me fall apart under his hand in the space of a handful of moments.

Afterwards I slumped against him and he held me close.

'Do you want to tell me what upset you so much?' He asked me. And here, in a ghost village, trapped between mud and rain and his warm body, I whispered all my secrets into his skin.

He didn’t believe me at first but at least he didn’t push me away and called me a liar or a bastard even though the last one was true. Had always been true but it had hurt less when it had been possible for me to imagine someone as my father. My favourite had always been my mother’s lover Accalon because he was brave and chivalrous and funny but if he had been my father then he could have married her after Urien had passed away.

Gawain asked me to explain, asked me questions of when and how and who and when I answered he listened to me.

“Who else knows?” He asked me finally.

“My mother, my – father, I don’t know how much your parents know.” I told him. I was freezing and uncomfortable but I didn’t dare to move. I feared that if I broke the spell he would realise what I really was and never touch me again and I couldn’t even blame him.

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?” I asked back and shrugged.

“You are the King’s son.” When he said it, it sounded like something glorious, something to be proud of. I doubted that he had yet come to the conclusion what it really meant for me.

“No, I’m the illegitimate, incestuous bastard.” I laughed hollowly when I watched the realisation sink in.

“But Arthur...he wouldn’t...I mean he wouldn’t prevent you from becoming a knight.” This time my laughter was genuine because of course Gawain would cut right to the practical problems. It was one of the things that I loved about him: theoretical dilemmas had no room in Gawain’s mind and his pragmatism was paired with a deeply idealistic streak. I knew he would make a fine addition to the King’s Court.

“Who knows what he will or won’t do?” I told him. Like every one of us I had always imagined myself as a knight of Camelot. Gawain took my hand and held it tightly in his:

“Even if he prevents you from becoming a knight of Camelot, you will always be a knight of Orkney.” He told me fiercely and I knew I loved him in that moment.


End file.
